Pessimist

36 - Devil

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse (verbal, physical), sexual assault, and violence

THREE YEARS AND TWO MONTHS AGO

"Do you ever fucking listen or is normal for bitches like you to act out?"

My lips curl together in a firm line, fingers clenched as I stood there in front of Devon with my shirt ripped in tatters along my body, the sting of his slap still preeminent on my cheek. Tears have stung my eyes but I've been narrowed down to silence, not knowing how to react in case I further explode his temper.

We've been going out for five months, the last two involving me moving in with him and quitting my jobs with the promise that I'd be cared for because of his love for me. I was only filled with glee back then, now however I am stuck with burdened dread.

"What? Are you not going to speak? You dress like a whore, eat like a pig, and expect me to what? Say thank you? I allow you to do whatever the fuck you want and this is how you repay me?" His words slash blade after blade across my skin and somehow, I still feel every bit of pain that comes from his words.

My fault, I tell myself. I ruined things again.

I've been conditioned to take every word, every curse, from his mouth from the last few weeks because he kept me alive. He gave me shelter, food, clothes, and family. He allowed me a glimpse of a world I was never able to have due to my misfortunes. I owed him everything and yet, I'm so utterly confused on why the next words that spill out of my mouth turn my world into utter chaos.

"You can't keep going around like a fucking maniac and treating me like shit. That isn't how relationships work," My voice shook, head shaking as I allowed the tears that formed in woe to slide down my cheeks exposing my vulnerability to the one man who I have given everything to. Body and soul, he is the one I worship because he is the one who gave me life.

"That isn't how we work..." I trail off, now confused. My mind seems to be playing catch up as my blocked up heart rewinds and hits play again. Something had happened, something so slow yet sure that has made his controlling race up from fifty-percent to a hundred. He has never been like this before, so volatile and hectic that it scares me. He frightens me.

Tired, vulnerable, and agitated and not only him but myself. How could I let this happen? How could I let myself get this far, this deep into him, in such little time?

The hand that held the scissors had slackened, Devon's head bowing and for a glimpse, for a singular second I hoped that he felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Apologetic as he profusely apologised to me for his behaviour and how it isn't my fault, but his. That work is tough, that life is hard, that his politician parents pressure him too heavily and he didn't mean to cut up my clothes and insult my weight and slap me until my cheek went numb.

With that hope desperately clutched in the carving of my heart, I released the truth I needed him to hear hoping it was a path to freedom. A path to solace. "I forgot how it felt to love you."

My hopeful assumption goes astray as his body stiffens, hand clenching the scissors once again and this time, I don't expect to be pushed to the ground, bare knees digging into the hardwood as the rest of the clothes are cut off my body and I'm left picking up the pieces of my dignity night after night for the next three restless years.

My words have started an unknown war and I'm afraid that this is how I will die.

- - -

PRESENT

I'm jerked awake through the next three aggressive turns, Devon's hands on the steering wheel a flexing aggravated mess of anger. The car swerves again as he slams on the brakes, stopping at a red light and I blink back the liquid that drips into my eyes, the smell of blood burning my nose.